


put a little love on me

by iPhone



Series: breathe me in [2]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Romance, Smut, they're on vacation and they're just horny babies ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 09:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19788043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iPhone/pseuds/iPhone
Summary: Beca and Chloe miss each other, especially in light of their newfound physical intimacy.





	put a little love on me

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Jess Glynne's "123". 
> 
> I was debating whether to continue this as another chapter to [_breathe me in_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19475530), but I liked the way it stood by itself, so consider this just an immediate follow up.
> 
> Also, it is so incredibly difficult to write phone sex and make it half-believable. But this year is all about trying new things in my writing. Hope you enjoy!

Mostly, Beca just misses Chloe terribly. It’s not even two weeks, but it’s two weeks too long and all she wants to do is spend time with Chloe and explore their newfound physical intimacy.

It’s kind of a problem that Beca hasn’t been able to stop thinking about from the moment her father picked her up from the Bellas house and Chloe had sleepily given her a kiss goodbye.

Beca cannot shake the image of Chloe’s face from her mind.

More specifically, what Chloe looks like when she comes.

Just the thought of it sends heat rippling through Beca’s body. She flushes - feels it spread from her face and down her chest - and quickly busies herself with taking a sip of the ice cold lemonade beside her, hoping against hope that Sheila hasn’t noticed–

“Beca, are you good with the sunscreen?” Sheila peers at her over the top of her sunglasses. Beca boldly meets her eyes, as if she weren’t just vividly fantasizing about her girlfriend. “You’re looking a little red.”

Beca briefly congratulates herself on _not_ choking before she primly puts her glass back on the side table. “I left the sunscreen in the hotel room. I should probably reapply it.”

With that, she quickly leaves, completely ignoring the bottle of sunscreen Sheila extracts from her bag.

* * *

Chloe collapses on her bed, tired of packing already. _But,_ she’s even more looking forward to returning back to Atlanta to see her friends again. To see her _girlfriend_ again.

Speaking of said girlfriend– 

**Beca Mitchell  
** _IMG_1930  
_ _IMG_1931_

Beca rarely sends her images. It is additionally cryptic that it’s not paired with a humorous and mildly self-deprecating message. Usually it’s Chloe initiates all the sending of cute images and memes, much to Beca’s amusement, though she’ll deny amusement if ever asked.

Chloe opens the message immediately. She makes a pleased little sound upon seeing the little gift sent on behalf of her girlfriend.

The first photo is innocent enough. Beca is clearly enjoying the last vestiges of her vacation. All things considered, it’s a fairly bold photo for Beca to take. Her sunglasses perched atop her head and her hair pulled into a loose side ponytail, Beca looks all kinds of relaxed and adorable. Chloe’s going to have to convince her to take a small getaway over spring break.

And of course, there’s the cute black and blue bikini set Beca favors – Chloe can just see it at the edges of her phone screen. Chloe recognizes the angle at which Beca took the photo, ever so familiar with all the tricks of the trade: flattering light and teasing hints of curves that Chloe is all too familiar with.

The second is a full-length shot that Beca has clearly taken through the mirror in the bathroom. Chloe _definitely_ appreciates the photo, eyes tracing up and down her girlfriend’s slim form.

She sighs wistfully.

 **Chloe Beale  
** _You so cute :((((_

 **Beca Mitchell  
** _Why would that make you sad :(_

 **Chloe Beale  
** _Because I miss you and I want to be with you!!_

(Beca knows she shouldn’t read too much into the text, but she does and immediately battles back her immediate desire to send Chloe another photo to rile up her girlfriend even more. But she settles on behaving just for a moment so she can be “soft” as Chloe would call her. She can see Chloe’s knowing smile already.)

 **Beca Mitchell  
** _I wish you were here too. I miss your face :(_

 **Chloe Beale  
** _Just my face?_

Chloe can practically see Beca’s eyebrows climb up on her face. _Gotcha,_ Chloe thinks. She knows what will happen. Here, Beca will usually back away. Or perhaps change the subject.

 **Beca Mitchell  
** _…and some other...parts of you._

Chloe grins. “Beca Mitchell,” she murmurs to herself. She fires off another text before she can think about it, imagining the blush on Beca’s face. She doesn’t stop to think about the repercussions until it’s too late. 

**Chloe Beale  
** _Is this a sext? :))_

Taking pause and re-reading over their messages, Chloe groans and immediately taps her phone against her forehead. She doesn’t want to push Beca into something she’s uncomfortable with, especially since their relationship is newly intimate and increasingly physical. 

**Chloe Beale  
** _Sorry, I was just kidding, babe._

She fires that off just as Beca’s message comes in as well. 

**Beca Mitchell  
** _Do you want it to be?_  
_...  
No, nevermind, i don’t know what that was_

Chloe fumbles with her phone. _That’s_ new. 

**Chloe Beale  
** _No_  
_I want it to be_  
_I mean, obviously  
Have you seen you?_

Chloe wonders if that’s too far – if she’s sent Beca running for the hills again. Or the beach.

(Chloe will know if it’s too far if she sends Beca running for any kind of literal beach. It’s the last place Beca would be caught dead, always citing her likelihood of burning easily.)

Beca doesn’t run.

Instead, she calls her.

* * *

The first thing Chloe thinks upon hearing Beca’s voice is how much she misses her. They haven’t had the opportunity to speak often enough over the break, which Chloe understands well enough, considering that Beca is on vacation and Chloe is fighting with her cousins over video game consoles.

The second thing Chloe thinks is that Beca’s voice is the only thing she wants to hear for the foreseeable future.

The third – well, Chloe is immediately reminded of what Beca’s voice sounded like when she has whispered soft, nasty little things into her ear while Chloe’s hand worked between her sticky thighs.

The heat of Beca’s breath against her skin.

“Hey,” Beca repeats softly. “Are you there?”

“Yeah,” Chloe murmurs back, finally cognizant enough to speak. “Yeah, I’m here.” The silence between them is heavy and laden with unaddressed tension.

Then of course Chloe’s brain misfires to her mouth and she’s speaking again. “So is this a booty call, Beca?”

Beca laughs in both surprise and in release of her own tension. “I’m...kind of? I mean, it’s…” she trails off. “It’s whatever,” Beca says finally and Chloe can tell it takes everything in her to not tack on ‘dude’ to the end of that statement.

Chloe totally understands.

* * *

It ends up being a phone call of them catching up.

Beca listens intently and carefully as Chloe relays her latest family drama. She offers suggestions betweens Chloe’s pauses and allows Chloe to rant as she pleases.

In the middle of Beca relaying her own story about a funny incident involving her father and a waiter, she pauses and goes silent for a moment.

Chloe frowns, sitting up in bed as she listens carefully to the abrupt silence. She wonders if Beca’s phone line had gone dead.

“Bec?” 

There’s a deep inhale, loud enough that Chloe hears it clearly through her phone.

She grows worried. “Beca,” she calls again.

Then–

Beca kind of laughs. It’s a weak and soft, but so essentially _Beca_ all the same. “I love you,” she says, finally speaking the words Chloe has wanted so desperately to hear.

For a moment, everything falls away and all Chloe knows is the way the phone sits so firmly against her ear – hot and a little sweaty from the proximity to her skin. All she knows is the three words Beca just spoke aloud to her – knows that they _must_ be more than platonic.

And vividly, all she imagines doing is picking Beca up – sweeping her off her feet like she deserves – and kissing her soundly and triumphantly.

But all of this is only a moment and Chloe moves as gracefully into the next – as best as she can without completely breaking down – and repeats the words back at Beca Mitchell like she has wanted to do for so long.

* * *

Okay, so it’s _mostly_ them catching up.

Chloe wouldn’t have thought that it’d be _Beca_ who would initiate phone sex, but stranger things have happened.

It’s as cliché’d as Chloe could have hoped for.

“So, I was out on the beach with Sheila,” Beca begins. “And I guess my mind kind of wandered and I was just thinking about how we, you know, before I left for Christmas.” 

Somehow, Beca – sweet, awkward Beca – manages to roll her stepmother, Chloe getting herself off, and Christmas into one sentence.

Chloe kind of hates that she thinks Beca is simultaneously the most adorable person she’s ever met _and_ somehow the hottest person she’s ever met. All rolled into one five-foot-one (and a half) package.

“Uh huh,” Chloe intones. _Go on_ , she wants to say, interested in what Beca could say next.

“...and how, when I get back,” Beca continues, with a little hesitation. “I’d like...to do that again.” 

* * *

The day they first kissed was hot and humid, per Atlanta’s usual standards. 

But Beca’s hands were a little cold from being wrapped around her bottle of water. A little wet from the condensation.

Her hands had rested so lightly on Chloe’s neck that she shivered. Not at all from the cold or the wetness, but from the gentleness of Beca’s touch.

The touch of Beca’s lips against hers was nothing but warmth.

Chloe wondered if there would ever be a better feeling in the world. 

* * *

“You would?” Chloe asks, all kinds of heat flooding through her body. She can’t help but smiling a little, wondering what Beca would say if she knew Chloe had let her mind and hand wander only just yesterday while showering. “I’ve been thinking about it too. How much I’d...love to see what you look like when you come.” 

“Okay,” Beca squeaks out.

“Okay?” Chloe asks to be sure.

“I want to show you,” Beca rushes out. “I…” she takes a breath, as if grounding herself. “I want you to be there when I have my hand between my legs and I’m thinking about the way you looked when she just came apart. I want that so much – I want you to be there. I want your hands on me.” 

Chloe can barely catch her breath after that veritable marathon of words from Beca. “Just my hands?” she asks, as boldly as she dares.

Beca makes a strange whining sound. It sounds like it comes from deep inside her chest and stick somewhere in her throat. It makes Chloe think of all the other things she can elicit from Beca – from deep inside Beca. Then Beca is speaking again and Chloe drifts with the sound of Beca’s voice. But it’s her _words_ – 

“Maybe your mouth. Lips. Tongue.” 

And it shouldn’t be hot, the way Beca seems to plainly lists the anatomy of her mouth, but Chloe can hear something in her tone. It is every last ounce of reciprocal desire that even Beca, for all her awkwardness and occasional shyness cannot even contain.

It must bubble out of her in the same way Chloe feels her own body react to Beca. Such visceral and primal reactions to something as simple as her attraction to her own girlfriend.

Chloe places Beca on speaker and lets her phone flop down next to her head. With her freed hands, she quickly takes off her pajama bottoms and flings them in the direction of her door, sparing a cursory glance to ensure that her door is in fact shut and locked.

“God,” Chloe whispers, once she’s settled. “I wish you were here, Bec.” The sound of Beca’s immediate intake of breath is sharp in the way it sends a jolt straight to Chloe’s lightly-aching clit. She resists touching herself just yet, wanting to let the anticipation build.

“If I were...there,” Beca says slowly, adopting a measured tone. “What would we do?”

“I’d kiss you,” Chloe responds immediately.

(She tries to recall the phantom sensation of Beca’s lips against hers. She tries to recall the gentle tug of Beca’s teeth. She tries and tries, but all she gets are glimpses into the past and the reminder of how hot and restrictive her shirt had felt. 

How hot and wet her fingers were in contrast to the soft warmth of Beca’s skin.

The trail of wetness she had left up Beca’s side.)

“What else?” Beca asks.

“I’d...I’d want you to touch me.”

“Where?” Beca asks after a brief pause.

 _Everywhere_ , Chloe thinks. 

She lets her hand drift between her legs and swallows. “Where I’m touching myself right now.”

All Beca does is _breathe_ at that, but Chloe feels that sound travel straight through her body to settle warmly between her legs.

 _Hurry_ , Chloe wants to say, but she can’t even articulate what she wants Beca to do or say.

“Where…” Beca seems to swallow. “Are you wet?”

“Getting there,” Chloe admits, tracing her finger in a circular motion around her lower lips. Up. Down. Circles her clit once. Twice. “You can help,” Chloe encourages.

“How can I help?” Beca asks, a little helplessly. “What else would we do if I were there? God, I’m doing this all wrong,” she mutters mostly to herself.

It makes Chloe laugh because Beca doesn’t realize how everything she does is so right if only for the fact that she trusts Chloe and wants Chloe as much as Chloe does in relation to Beca. “Trust me, you’re doing everything right, babe.”

It helps. “How can I help?” Beca repeats, her voice a little stronger. 

Chloe blanks for a moment, the pleasure too hot and too visceral for her to do much else. “I don’t care,” Chloe admits, finally. “Just as long as you’re here.” Her words come out a little strained and a little bit on an uneven staccato, almost like the only discernible rhythm in her body at all is the steady pulsing of heart and the equally steady pulsing in her aching core. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah, dad sprung for my own room here.” There’s a rustle in the background on Beca’s end, like a body lying down on fresh sheets. Chloe’s brow furrows at the vivid mental image. Beca’s breathing evens out a little. Chloe imagines she’s lying down, arm behind her head. Relaxed as ever. “Are you?”

(But knowing Beca as well as she does, Beca is probably spending an obscene amount of time trying to place her limbs in comfortable positions.)

Chloe hums, nodding. “Yeah,” she says quickly. “Yeah...I...in my room. What are you...wearing?” she asks tentatively, thinking of all the soft skin on display in Beca’s favorite blue and black bikini.

“I changed out of my swimwear,” Beca admits. “Just a tshirt right now. One of yours,” she continues, like it’s a secret.

Chloe would never treat Beca like a secret, but the thought of hushed whispers and intimate touches all in the privacy of her bedroom – just so they can shut out the rest of the world for a few hours...Chloe would give anything for that.

“Is that all?” Chloe asks, wanting to know. “Is that all you’re wearing, I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you...show me?”

“Oh Jesus,” Beca clears her throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like to...do that.”

* * *

They haven’t done much with their clothes off entirely.

The Great Shower Incident™ doesn’t count.

(“Dude, I didn’t even _look_ ,” Beca had exclaimed.

“You did,” Chloe teased back. “I have eyes. That’s okay.”

“Did you look?” Beca asked, peeking from between her fingers.

“No,” Chloe responded truthfully.

She had always been drawn to Beca’s voice first and foremost. Everything else came after.

Though, she wasn’t going to complain about anything with Beca swinging a leg over her thighs and pressing her back into the bed for an intense, fully-clothed kiss.)

But no–

Nothing with their clothes off entirely. Just wandering hands and muffled gasps. Strained nipples against the rough fabric of their t-shirts.

The slightest streaks of wetness across their underwear.

* * *

It feels almost archaic, sending and receiving image attachments. But Chloe thinks she’s almost too shy for a quick FaceTime situation and she figures Beca is the same, more or less.

( _Maybe another time,_ her mind whispers traitorously. Chloe can almost see the jubilant dance her inner mind’s self is doing. _Shut up_ , she whispers back.)

Chloe waits for a little and hears nothing but the faintest sound of movement.

Then, her phone vibrates near her head and she startles, having forgotten momentarily that her phone wasn’t near her hands.

 **Beca Mitchell  
** _IMG_1942  
_ _IMG_1943_

The first photo is a selfie. Up close just a shot of Beca’s face and her shoulders. Her hair is in a loose ponytail still, her eyes are bright, and her lips are parted slightly. Maybe in a kind of half-smile. Chloe sometimes wonders abstractly if Beca is aware of how attractive she is. Even objectively and completely without bias (lie), Chloe can say that Beca is a very attractive woman.

But this is for her eyes only and Chloe takes it in greedily and quickly, nearly breathless from the thrill of Beca responding positively.

The second photo is what really makes Chloe short-circuit in new ways – a simple shot likely meant to show Chloe her t-shirt, but it’s angled in a way that indicates Beca’s shallow attempt to preserve modesty. Her free hand holds her shirt down and her legs are crossed. Chloe tries not to linger on the shadows - of what lies between Beca’s legs - but can’t do much but helplessly flip back and forth between the photos.

Beca clears her throat. 

Chloe had taken too long. _Oops._ “Oh Bec,” Chloe murmurs. She's not sure she even managed to convey all the reverence and love she feels.

Beca clearly hears something in Chloe’s tone because she doesn’t sound upset or nervous or even awkward when she speaks next. “Yeah?”

“God, you’re hot,” Chloe whispers. “Cute shirt,” she comments.

It _is_ a cute shirt.

And Beca _is_ hot.

But there’s so much more that Chloe wants to say. Like how badly she wants to take off Beca’s shirt and kiss her until she forgets her name. Like how much she wants to lay Beca out on her bed and spread her legs and just–

“I can take it off,” Beca rushes to offer.

“Take off–? Take off your shirt?” Chloe asks, feeling a little silly at having to ask for clarification. “I mean, if you want to,” she says quickly to save face.

“I can,” Beca repeats, more to herself than anything. Another brief silence follows.

“I’d love that,” Chloe says as honestly as she can. She doesn’t know how much she can reassure Beca that she has absolutely _nothing_ to worry about. “You’re honestly beautiful, Bec.”

Beca says something, but Chloe misses it because it’s a little muffled. Her heart beats faster knowing that Beca _must_ be taking off her shirt.

Chloe realizes belatedly that of course Beca’s offer came paired with another photo (she’ll blame her slowly-melting brain), but she’s helpless to do much else until she receives the photo, the sequential vibrating of her phone startling her out of her vivid daydream. 

**Beca Mitchell  
** _IMG_1945_  
_IMG_1947  
_ _IMG_1948_

_Oh._

_Oh God._

_Okay._

“Bec,” Chloe says before opening the messages. “Bec, you–”

“I wanted to,” Beca interrupts, a little breathless with her own excitement. Chloe’s fingers twitch against her inner thigh, increasingly warm from her own touch and the emotions rushing through her body. “And – and you could send some if you wanted,” Beca murmurs. “I...I’d like that.”

Chloe can barely squeak through the intense way her heart threatens to beat out of her chest. “Okay, I’ll just…” She opens Beca’s messages first, swallowing the lump in her throat.

* * *

Beca’s body fills her screen.

Uninterrupted soft skin.

The hint of intimate tan lines against otherwise pale skin.

“Fuck,” Chloe murmurs before she can help herself.

“Is that okay?” Beca asks, sounding shy again, but there is something heavy in her tone, like she’s so eager to please Chloe.

Chloe’s mouth feels dry, but she wills herself to speak because it’s what Beca deserves (and she deserves so much more than what Chloe thinks she can give sometimes). 

“You’re perfect,” Chloe says softly and she means it with all her heart. “God, I want to touch you so badly.” 

* * *

**Chloe Beale  
** _IMG_6942  
_ _IMG_6946_

Chloe is a _tease_ , Beca thinks grudgingly. Even thousands of miles away, she gets on Beca’s last nerve in all the best ways possible.

Refocusing on the two photos Chloe has sent her though – one a shot of her face and another angled downwards so Beca can see the t-shirt Chloe is donning, her free hand resting innocently on her thigh. 

First, Chloe is incredibly pretty even in the shoddy lighting of her bedroom. Her eyes remain impossibly blue and her smile is somehow a little a shy – an expression that is a little unfamiliar to them both.

Second, Beca whimpers a little at the sight – of the hint of glistening on Chloe’s fingers as her fingers rest against her thigh.

She’s so tempted to ask for more – to see more of Chloe, but she realizes she can wait for that. In any case, Chloe has been more than generous and already so willing to go at whatever pace Beca wants. 

When they’re both ready.

But for now–

“I love you,” Beca says again, enjoying the thrill that runs through her body at being able to say that aloud and so freely at that.

* * *

“Could I kiss you?” Beca asks in such a way that Chloe slams her eyes shut because it’s so _Beca_. All soft words and hesitance in light of her pretend-rough edges and sharp lines. 

“You can kiss me wherever you want,” Chloe says quickly before she can stop herself. It’s a little bold and fresh, but Beca makes a strange little sound – almost like an exhale, but something sticks in her throat like a whine.

“I would,” Beca finally says after a brief pause. “Kiss you. Wherever you want.”

“Wherever _you_ want,” Chloe corrects quietly. She drags her hand up her thigh slowly, imagining the hesitancy and delicateness of Beca’s touch.

* * *

“What do you think of when you…” Beca pauses for a moment, her breathing labored and deep. Chloe imagines all kinds of things: Beca’s own hand trailing down her torso or Beca slowly licking her lips in thought. They’re all equally vivid and vibrant in her mind’s eye and she continues to find herself lost in thought, specifically the thought that Beca chooses to call Chloe hers.

“When I what,” Chloe asks softly when Beca doesn’t continue. She uses her pointer and ring finger to gently part her folds, letting her middle finger graze slowly from her clit to her opening. 

“When you touch yourself,” Beca whispers. “When you think of me.” She says all of this reverently, like the most desperate of prayers whispered beneath her breath. Chloe is honoured to be both the subject and on the receiving end.

Chloe swallows hard.

She could say _so many things._

“Mostly I think about the kinds of sounds you make when I–” Beca’s breath stutters. “–like that,” Chloe says quickly. “The little things you do or the sounds you make when I’m kissing you. Like you can barely resist. Like you’re holding yourself back.”

“I’m the same,” Beca murmurs. 

Something about Beca’s tone makes Chloe perk up. “Where are your hands, Beca?” she asks.

(All she can see in her mind’s eye is Beca’s hand on her own body: Beca’s hands gliding down the flat plane of her stomach; Beca’s fingers skimming the soft, pale skin of her upper thighs.)

That seems to do it. Something rustles in the background. Chloe tilts her head towards the phone, laying by her head.

“Tell me,” Chloe says softly. “Please,” she adds on, unable to stop herself. 

* * *

Beca knows she’s not going to last. She knew from the moment she called Chloe and she _knew_ from the moment she saw Chloe’s photos.

Her fingers nearly slip right over her clit when she hears Chloe’s choked out exhale. A moan.

“I – more pressure,” Chloe gasps out, clearly focused on one thing at the moment. Beca heats at the thought of being that _one thing_ Chloe focuses on.

Beca wills her mind to draw up a vivid enough picture of what Chloe is doing with her hands – how agile her fingers would be between her legs. 

Belatedly, Beca absentmindedly rubs a firmer pattern against her clit, unable to stop the soft cry that escapes her.

“Good?” Chloe asks.

Beca’s mouth dries and somehow manages to mumble something in assent while also trying to envision what Chloe’s face looked like when she was close.

“Yeah?” Chloe asks for confirmation, desperation coloring her tone.

“Yeah,” Beca says quietly. “Yeah. It’s…I wish you were here, Chlo.” 

_I wish you were touching me. I wish your fingers were on me._

_In me._

That last thought jolts Beca and has to will her hips to stay still, lest she fling herself off the bed dramatically. She shuts her eyes, just feeling around her wet folds, teasing her entrance, finally leaving her swollen clit. She could just–

“Two fingers,” Chloe rasps, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m using two fingers.”

“Fuck, that’s so hot.” Beca inhales sharply then – too sharp to merely be another simple gasp of pleasure. “Shit,” she murmurs. She knows she can take two fingers, but she usually likes to build herself up to it. 

She knows she can take two fingers. God, maybe three if Chloe keeps this up.

“Beca?” Chloe calls. The strain in Chloe’s voice is so evident and Beca _knows_. She can see in her mind’s eye the flex of Chloe’s wrist and the flexing muscle in Chloe’s forearm. Where Chloe’s hand had disappeared between her legs the first time around. 

Beca aches to know. Beca aches to _see_.

Two fingers slide in so easily.

Beca slowly pushes her fingers in and out of herself, willing herself not to rock her hips upwards like she so desperately wants to. She’s going to make this last even if it kills her.

Chloe’s voice again. It spurs her on. “Bec, are y-you okay?” 

“Yeah, I–I’m just...I’m using two fingers too.”

Beca almost expects Chloe to make a sound of approval or somehow praise her. She eagerly anticipates it. _Look,_ she wants to say. _This is all for you, Chlo._

Instead, Chloe moans, a breathy little sound that sounds so fucking _hot_ that Beca’s brain short circuits.

_Oh God._

Beca’s hips buck up of their own accord.

 _Fuck. Stop that_ , she chastises herself.

“Words,” Chloe rasps quickly, clearing composing herself for a moment.

Beca whimpers. She’s not sure she can handle speaking now. She tugs her lower lip between her teeth, imagining Chloe doing that to her. Her brow furrows as her fingers pick up the pace.

“ _Words_ , Bec,” Chloe grits out. The sound makes Beca clench hard around her fingers. She doesn’t know if she can articulate any more than she already has.

A pause grows between them. Beca is so keenly aware of any and all sounds echoing around the room. Her heavy breathing. Chloe’s heavy breathing coming from her phone.

“I’m so wet, Chlo,” Beca whispers, finally. Her voice is higher than usual and a little strained. “I want to feel your hands on me. Your mouth. Anything. I just need you to touch me. God. I’m so fucking tight.”

She doesn't even stop to think about her words – she _can't_ because Chloe moans, long and low at that.

Her brain fizzles out then, for which Beca is grateful because she’s not sure she can process her own embarrassment at her words at this exact moment. Not while she’s chasing her orgasm and desperately trying to hear the exact sound of Chloe Beale coming apart.

Beca doesn’t have to wait long. She can see it: the strain in Chloe’s neck, the sharp flex of her wrist, the way her thighs clamped together as if to hold her hand in place.

“ _Beca_ ,” Chloe cries out. It is soft and sweet and so, so desperate that Beca knows Chloe has sent herself right over the edge.

And like the first time, Beca follows right after. Her eyes clamp shut and her lips part. She gasps. Or maybe she moans. It doesn’t matter because a rush of nothingness floods her ears and she’s clenching tight around her fingers, Chloe’s face in her mind and Chloe’s name on her lips.

* * *

Nothing is sweeter than the way Chloe whispers “I love you, Bec,” and how Beca easily finds herself reciprocating.

Nothing is softer than the tired way they whisper their goodbyes.

Beca dreams of holding Chloe in her arms; she dreams of waking up to sleep-warmed skin.

She hopes Chloe dreams of the same thing.

* * *

There is something sweeter, perhaps, than even managing to come apart at the sound of her girlfriend’s voice, Chloe thinks.

She all but screams in delight when Beca rushes into her arms, dropping her luggage in the middle of the driveway. Beca smells an airplane and rain, but all Chloe feels when Beca tucks her face into her neck is the warmth of finally coming home.

“Welcome back,” she whispers.

She lets Beca pull her into the house and up the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up here or on [Tumblr](https://isthemusictoblame.tumblr.com/).


End file.
